


Old

by Makigaki



Series: Time And Relative Dimensions In Space [8]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Aging, Classic Doctor Who References, Dreams, Gallifrey, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makigaki/pseuds/Makigaki
Summary: Yana is getting old, though in his dreams he is everything but.





	Old

**Author's Note:**

> There's like, one swear word.

There's a draft again. The cold night air is wafting in, and he should fix that. He really should. But he knows where it's coming from, and it's just a bit too close to the ground. Maybe he'll fix it another day. He couldn't possibly go so low with his back hurting as it does now. He was getting old. His mind was as bright and inquisitive as it was when he was a teenager, but his body was wasting away, giving into age. It was frustrating, how his cramping fingers put his ever more exasperating goal so much further out of reach. 

Chantho could manage if he told her what to do, but putting his thoughts in an orderly manner to relay them had always been hard on him. Notions seemed to zoom around like bullets, ideas like moving target boards, and senses like a shelter with exits leading to everywhere. Somehow he came up with brilliant ideas, and how he managed all that with the constant BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! of those bullets, he had no clue. He was a rather fabulous multitasker though, if he might say so himself. 

The fact remains, however, that despite the youngness of his mind, he was, inescapably and undeniably, getting older. No, worse than that, he already was old. And there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. Aging was inevitable, everyone knew that. Still, that didn't stop him from dreaming every time he slept, where he was young, or at least younger than he was now. His dreams were usually that of the perspective of somebody different, almost never was he the main character of the stories made up by his resting head. 

Interestingly enough, he catches glimpses of himself, or rather, the body he was in, and he counts fourteen appearances, though one is a horrid corpse, another a snake, and one is even a cheetah man. Those are not the only ones, as he knows he has been four others, but he is always shrouded by darkness with a terrible stretching feeling when he becomes one of those quadruplets. Rarely does he dream of himself as a young man, but it happens on occasion. 

The point is, in his dreams he is never old. Perhaps that is what makes it so much harder for him to accept the fact of his increasing age. Chantho doesn't seem to notice, and he really does appreciate her friendship despite the apparent age difference. Sometimes, if his dreams were light and cheery enough, he'd confide in her, and ask what she dreamed about that night. She would say, 

“Chan, I dream about the people we are getting to Utopia, tho. Chan, if it is possible, that is, tho.”

Then he'd ask her what Utopia ought to look like. She'd say what they all say, with an added Chan and tho. 

“The skies, beautiful and glittering, they would be made of diamonds.”

She'd ask the same of him in return, and his reply was always, 

“Well, if so many people believe it, it must hold some truth. Yes, made of diamonds. Sounds about right.”

The ritual conversation would be over, but it would linger in his busy brain. In his mind's eye, Utopia was clear as day. Utopia would have two suns and an orange sky, nothing as ridiculous or extravagant as diamonds. Trees would have leaves like silver and the grass would be red. Mountains would be able to be seen in every direction, tall and snowcapped. The dirt would be a burnt orange, almost like a sea reflecting the sky, waves and all. Crops and wildlife would be abundant, and prosperous, mighty cities would rise up in glass domes. Every building and structure would be bigger on the inside.

He imagined that when the suns rose in the morning, if one were only to look out, vast forests would reflect the bright grass, burning with light as if on fire. Somewhere deep down, he knew Utopia could never look like that. How he knew he'll never know, but the knowledge made possibly staying behind in the slight chance of take-off significantly easier. But that damn freezing draft didn't. He would fix it in the morning, if his old aching back was feeling better or not. He would, really. He would.

Yana goes to bed. He dreams of being young, running with friends in his own little Utopia, where there was a school to graduate from and teachers chasing them close behind. The Utopia he dreamed of was a shining red planet, surrounded with two suns and seven systems. The Utopia in his dreams was home. The man had a lot of dreaming to catch up on, for while Professor Yana definitely dreamed, the Master most certainly did not.


End file.
